What if?

I truly am amazed how quickly the time goes by. Amazed by how little is actually getting done, no matter my intentions. I'm annoyed by it too. It seems like there is something new, something more to do everyday and everyday I want to do those things less and less. The stories, no, the characters - these fully rounded, animated, alive people - are inside my mind practically begging and screaming to get out and I can barely find the time to answer my e-mail. There are times that the frustration, the irritation of it actually hurts.

And maybe that's not a good thing.

I did mention that I was crazy once, didn't I?

There are so many things I have to do everyday but the only thing I want to do right now is write. And I don't have the time - life is just in the way (for now) and every time I think I've managed to arrange things so that I can eke out an hour for my work, something else pops up and I have to turn away from the stories. From the characters.

And I fear...

What will I do if, after not being able to write for so long at a time, for having to ignore the voices - the characters - for so long, what if when I can finally turn back to my writing and there's nothing left for me to tell? What if the characters and the stories leave me with nothing to say?

Playing Like a Broken Record

Life is seriously boring somedays. Like MAJOR boring. How the hell is a person expected to truly enjoy anything when we're constantly being told that we shouldn't do this, or we should do that, go there, be with, talk to.... I think you get the point. I've been so busy lately that I haven't really felt like I had a lot of time to do anything that I wanted to do and then when I do have some time for me I'm just way too tired to take advantage of it and end up doing nothing but watching re-runs of House and Numbers on TV. Granted I really like both of those shows but still, I'm sure you get it.

Of course between my writing, my reading and reviewing, my kids, my new jobs (gotta earn a paycheck somehow) and taking care of my house and yard, I'm just wiped by the time I've got two minutes alone. Everyday. And then, there's days like today when I spend what free time I'd been looking forward to, doing work for my Dad on the computer that took for bloody ever.

There's just always something. Always one more thing to do. It's like playing a broken record - no matter how many times the vinyl turns, or the disc spins as the case may be, everything just starts over again and again, and again, and again....